


Hole in the Wall

by Mad_Dream



Category: Snow Like Ashes Series - Sara Raasch
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, F/M, Gen, If anyone is in this fandom please fangirl over this book with me XD, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Open Relationships, Proposals, Romance, scandals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 22:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14554758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Dream/pseuds/Mad_Dream
Summary: It was just a job. That's all it was supposed to be. If only his heart would understand that.Struggling to juggle paying the bills and completing school, Mather is a tight spot when funds are growing low. But when his long time rival comes to him with a proposal to sleep with his fiance, Mather is forced to set aside his feelings and complete the deed. Which is easier said than done when said fiance is also his ex. The harder Mather tries to resist being pulled into the couple's game of mischief, the harder it becomes for him to let go of his feelings for his first love. Up to the point where even he starts to question if he really wants to be let go of himself.(Formerly "A Black Ruby's Enigma")





	Hole in the Wall

_I love you._

The biggest lie he ever heard. And the biggest regret he ever spoke. He could wave it off as chemicals or primal desire, but that was too sad to admit. Despite how embarrassing it was, Mather once reveled in those words as if they were his drug. It made his skin prickle with goose bumps, made his stomach flip inside out—it’s so intoxicating, love is.

Was.

It was.

Until life decided it was time for Mather to grow up and leave his childhood fairytales behind him. He tried countless times, but the same words danced through his head when he let his walls down for a millisecond.

_I love you._

Mather hated who he became because of it. He hated how others used him because of it. But most of all, he hated how it landed him in this very situation: a mouthful of overly priced salmon glued to the roof of his mouth, a broken champagne flute, and fists digging up in between his rib cage. The thought alone brought him back to the present and how his lungs clenched painfully in his chest.

“One more!” A voice breathed into his ear.

Fists buried themselves into his ribcage so hard, Mather saw stars. His stomach heaved and in the next second he was face first on the table with a thick, pink wad of food rolling off his tongue and onto the floor. His shoulders shook violently while he grasped his throat. Air filled his lungs with sweet euphoria as he gasped and spluttered.

“Is your friend alright?” A feminine voice asked.

Mather could barely hear the woman’s question in the sea of murmurs that filled the room. Realization that he was still in a _public_ restaurant hit him and embarrassment flooded his cheeks. He kept his head pressed to the table as a hand pressed against his back.

“He’s alright.” His savoir said. “Could we get some water?”

A waiter quickly scrambled over with a water pitch already setting down a new glass while others swept away the broken shards of the champagne flute.

“Was there something wrong with the food? An allergy?” The waiter asked in a hushed tone.

“No, no. Just…overexcitement from some news is all.”

Mather gritted his teeth together. _News,_ he bit down on his tongue to avoid growling at Theron.

Theron, hand still on his back, turned to the restaurant. “I’m sorry we interrupted your meals. Thank you for your concern.”

Ever the faithful diplomat Theron was, apologizing for interrupting the public’s meal while saving his poor friend. Mather wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought Theron planned this moment for future support on an election.

Theron guided Mather back into his seat, sliding his cup of water to him. Mather swallowed his water in large gulps. He cast a glance towards the other patrons who quickly avoided his gaze. _Gods, were they broadcasting his inability to chew live?_ He thought, cheeks still blazing.

“It’s okay.” Theron said. “It happens all the time.”

Mather narrowed his eyes at the man. “Don’t,” He hissed lowly. “Don’t belittle me.”

Theron shrugged, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I’m not. Honest.”

Mather kept his eyes on him until he slumped back in his seat in defeat. It was hard to be vicious when the man before him was paying for his meal and just saved his life. Well, not too difficult considering what made him choke in the first place. Theron fiddled with the napkin on the table as Mather downed another glass of water.

“So,” Theron said, “your other thoughts to…this arrangement?”

Mather’s skin grew warm—not with embarrassment—but anger at the man. Theron, as much as Mather hated to admit it, was the definition of a prince. The way Theron’s dusty auburn hair curled around his eyes while he unabashedly assisted others without a second thought made Mather sick to his stomach. He was caring to others, even if they didn’t deserve it, and at times so poetic he’d imagine Shakespeare would be envious of his way with words. It was no wonder she—Mather closed his eyes.

 _No. We are not going down that road again._ Mather set his glass down with a sigh.

“Wasn’t my near death experience enough to show you what I thought?” Mather asked.

“That was already to be anticipated.” Theron replied. “The choking, not so much, but nonetheless I anticipated shock. But what are your thoughts now?”

Mather glanced at the mess of food that rested on his plate. “I’m thinking that salmon was a poor dinner decision on my part.”

“Mather.”

“Fine.” Mather crossed his arms. “I think I hate you a little bit more than I did before.”

“It won’t be a permanent thing,” Theron said. “Just think of it as blowing off steam. In a way, this works out in everyone’s favor.”

Mather arched a brow at him. “How?”

Theron plucked a pen from his jacket pocket and tugged his napkin closer towards him. He scribbled the first initials of his, Mather’s, and another’s name along with the days of the week onto the napkin and turned it upside down for the other to see. He pointed the tip of his pen Mather’s initials.

“Simply put, you would come every other weekend—say Saturday—to avoid suspicion and the more hours you spent there, the higher your pay will become. On alternative days throughout the week, we would meet in other locations.”

Each word that fell from Theron’s mouth, made Mather’s eyes grow wider.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Mather asked.

Theron paused. He set his pen down and dragged his hands through his hair. The diplomatic mask he wore cracked, revealing the tired, worried man underneath. Mather almost felt sorry for him.

“I know how this all sounds,” Theron said. “And I don’t want to be having this discussion anymore than you. But I don’t know how else to go about doing this.”

Mather bit the inside of his cheek. “You could say no.”

Theron barked out a bitter laugh. “Was it that easy for you to do?”

Mather opened his mouth to snap a heated reply, but stopped himself. He didn’t have anything to say to that. He didn’t know how to say “no” to her either. Mather leaned forward, propping himself against the table between them.

“If you really wanted me to consider,” Mather said, “ _she_  should’ve asked me instead.”

It was Theron’s turn to glare as he straightened himself. “Hard to do when you run out of the room as soon as she enters.”

“Then I guess we’re done talking then.”

Mather rose from his seat, sliding his jacket over his shoulders when Theron grasped his arm.

“We never have to talk about it.” Theron said. “It’s strictly business, and you would be able to quit at any time.” Theron watched anger flick across Mather’s face and quickly added, “Just think about it.”

He loosened his grip on Mather’s arm and Mather ducked out of the restaurant as fast he could. The cold chill in the air nipped at his cheeks, wrapping him in a cool embrace. Mather sighed in relief. He didn’t bother trying to zip up his jacket, needing the cold to whisk him away from what transpired just moments ago. He sped up his walking, zipping through the crowded sidewalk. As he turned corner after corner, the restaurant grew lost amongst the towering buildings.

Mather felt a weight lift off his shoulders with the center of Yakim Square behind him. The stores and people that waltzed up and down just outside the square still did little to soothe his nerves. But it was better than nothing. It wasn’t until he noticed golden light flicker to life in the lampposts that he finally buried his hands in his pockets.  One hand fumbled over paperclips and lint while the other touched his fairly thin, threadbare wallet. He sighed.

“Just walk,” Mather mumbled to himself. “You need the exercise.”

_Anything to forget the conversation behind him._

 –

It was a quarter till eleven when he walked into the flat. Mather awaited the heat that would thaw his face and fingers as soon as he walked in, only to walk into a room even colder than outside. _Wonderful,_ Mather thought, closing the door behind him. He squinted in the darkness to find two bodies bundled around the kitchen table. Small white flames ate away at the wicks in the candle when a head turned towards him.

“Where the hell have you been?” Phil asked between chattering teeth.

“Buses were down,” Mather said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the couch arm. “I thought we paid the electric bill last week.”

“We did,” Feige said.

Mather squinted in the darkness to look at the young girl at the table. A sweater three sizes too large for her, making her appear even smaller than she already was. She jutted her chin over at Phil.

“There was something wrong with the thermostat,” Phil jumped in. “I was just taking a look at it—”

“And blew out the entire east wing,” Feige chimed.

“I did not!”

“Mr. Landlord said that he would have it fixed by Monday.”

Mather shook his head. “Phillip, why?”

Phil whirled towards him, pressing a hand to his chest as if his question wounded him.

“Mather, not you too! I thought we were brothers,” Phil said. He stood the table and shot Mather a mock glare. “Don’t expect me to wait up on you again! _Or_ fix anything!”

Phil stormed out of the room down the hall. He slammed the door shut behind him, earning a series of barks from their other flat mates.

“And I thought I had a bad day,” Mather said, moving towards the cupboards. “Tea?”

“Hot chocolate,” Feige said. “He’ll be the first one out here to wait up on you again.”

“And why did you wait up on me?”

“To pop his story for you.”

Mather snorted. As he filled the two mugs with hot water, he could feel Feige’s eyes burning holes into his back. He tossed a hot chocolate packet on the table and set Feige’s mug in front of her. She tore the packet open, dumping the powdery contents into the mug. She barely gave the powder time to settle when she brought the mug to her lips.

“So, where did you go?” Feige asked.

“Can I at least drink my tea before you start interrogating me?” Mather replied.

Feige pursed her lips, watching Mather sip out his mug and asked, “Was it a hooker?”

Tea spewed out of Mather’s mouth. He spluttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The universe was out to kill him today apparently.

“I hope you used protection,” Feige continued. “That’s what always gets people.”

“Feige, I did not meet with a hooker,” Mather spat. “I just met with someone for an…interview.”

Feige just took another sip from her mug. “Did you get the job?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“They were…begging me to take it.”

Feige tilted her head at him before setting her mug aside. She curled her legs up onto the chair, wrapping her arms around them.

“In hindsight, it’s sort of good deal. Definitely good pay. I would just be doing something utterly ridiculous. I mean really—”

“So you won’t take it.”

Mather froze. Feige’s gaze was worse face to face. Her gray blue eyes scanned over his frame as if daring him to break. Mather swallowed thickly.

“No. I’m not.” He said.

Feige stared at him a beat longer and took another sip from her mug.

“Good. You’re really stretching yourself thin.”

Mather let out a breath and stood. He tossed his tea and mug in the sink.

“Goodnight Feige,” he said.

Feige waved him off as he sauntered to his room. He tiptoed over the sleeping bodies around the room towards his bed. He didn’t bother changing. The energy he had left instantly drained from his body the moment his body hit the mattress on the floor. Yet as he lay there, his mind refused to turn off. The restaurant was still fresh in his mind as if it happened merely minutes ago. He tossed and turned, cursing under his breath.

Why?

Why would Theron freaking Haskar ask him this? And why not together? Mather shook his head. Of course she wouldn’t come. Not since their falling out. Not since the incident.

So why would Theron, poised, perfect diplomat Theron, ask him to sleep with his fiancé?

**Author's Note:**

> Well, well, well. This is interesting >:)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Let me know what your thoughts are below or what you think might happen. See you next chapter!


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